


common tongue

by malatruse



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Netflix and Chill, survivors bullying the killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malatruse/pseuds/malatruse
Summary: The campfire is by necessity a small and close-knit community. His dislike of Ghostface comes to light pretty quickly, though not the exact reason; anyone who’s seen him offer a Memento Mori knows what a dick he can be. There isn’t a single survivor who wouldn’t want to punch his smug mask at least once. And, well, if they think Dwight feels the same, he’s not going to correct them.In a way, what ends up happening all cascades from this inconvenient fact.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	common tongue

**Author's Note:**

> it's still valentines day somewhere folks! here you go!

In Dwight’s defense, he’s always felt really weird when becoming Exposed. Ever since Myers showed up and started going into maximum stab mode, the feeling has sent a little shiver down his spine which, to his shame, is not a wholly uncomfortable feeling. Needless to say, it does make focusing on tasks more difficult. At least, he contented himself at the time, there was only one killer who could do it.

Then, of course, the Hag appeared and placed those terrible hex totems, one of which exposed survivors and worse. Aft her came the Pig and the Legion and so on, and of course, the killers would share these skills around and make every trial a gamble of how uncomfortable he would end up being.

So when the Ghostface showed up, Dwight was understandably stressed out. Here’s a killer that you can’t see coming, who can expose you and put you flat on your face in a matter of seconds if you’re not constantly vigilant. Needless to day, Dwight avoids him at all costs, short of leaving his friends to die.

The campfire is by necessity a small and close-knit community. His dislike of Ghostface comes to light pretty quickly, though not the exact reason; anyone who’s seen him offer a Memento Mori knows what a dick he can be. There isn’t a single survivor who wouldn’t want to punch his smug mask at least once. And, well, if they think Dwight feels the same, he’s not going to correct them.

In a way, what ends up happening all cascades from this inconvenient fact.

* * *

It starts normally enough, as trials go. The fog clears and Dwight finds himself somewhere in Coldwind Farm; squinting in the distance reveals the foreboding structure of the Thompson house. He finds a generator easily among the corn and gets to work.

Through his bond with his fellow survivors he sees Meg approaching, and he lets go of the generator, intending to gesture her over, when that swooping feeling of exposure washes over him and he leaps to his feet. Not fast enough to avoid the knife the swiftly plunges into his back, however.

It’s the low after the high, and he doesn’t even try to crawl away as Ghostface lifts him up onto his shoulder. It doesn’t matter, though, because before he can struggle through the walk to the hook Meg bursts out of the corn, flashlight blazing.

Ghostface hisses in displeasure, dropping Dwight, who wastes no time in running the other direction. He doesn’t bother healing, just breathes through the pain and starts on a fresh generator. In the distance he hears Meg yell, but a minute passes and he doesn’t hear her again, so she must be holding her own okay.

Two generators chug to life in the distance, and Dwight finishes his own a few seconds later. He moves to another one, set back in the corner, and waits with bated breath for Meg to go down or one of his other teammates to get injured.

No one does, however, and halfway through his work another generator finishes up. Something like unease settles in his gut; it’s never this easy, especially against Ghostface. Dwight stops working on his generator to get up and look around, but there’s no shadowy figure marking him, and despite his anxiety he finishes the last generator with no interruptions.

He’s debating what to do next when Nea finds him. “You’ve got to see this,” she says, her voice loud enough to startle the nearby birds. Dwight flinches nervously, but she just grabs his hand and drags him towards the house in the middle of the map.

Some things in the realms are always the same. Thompson House always has a generator and a hook upstairs, and it always, always has a hole on the second floor that leads to ground level. And hanging there, cloak caught high up on the jagged floorboards above, is Ghostface.

Dwight freezes, but despite the killer’s struggling, he can’t seem to free himself.

“Look what the we have here,” Nea says, grinning. Meg is crouched nearby, being healed by David.

“What happened?” Dwight asks. He’s still half-ready to run, although Ghostface has stopped struggling and is now hanging there with his arms crossed, watching them.

“He was chasing Meg and she faked him out at the hole. He tried to follow her, and I guess he slipped and got stuck up there,” Nea tells him.

“It’s what he deserves,” Meg says, getting to her feet. “Sick bastard.”

David nods in agreement. “Tosser got what was comin’ to him. Not so scary now, is he?”

Nea actually spits at his feet. “How does it feel to be the helpless one, huh?”

The masked killer doesn’t reply, simply stares down at the four of them.

“We should teach him a lesson,” David says, cracking his knuckles.

“I don’t think that’s-” Dwight starts.

Meg nudges Dwight. “C’mon, I bet you have a few things you wanna say to this fucker.”

Dwight looks up at Ghostface, who is staring back at him through his signature Scream mask.

“Um, my favorite scary movie is Dawn of the Dead?”

Nea snorts. “Seriously?”

“Y’know, like in _Scream_ , he asks--”

“Yeah, we get it,” Meg says, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice try, bud.”

Dwight feels the embarrassment creep up his neck, and he pulls back. “I’m opening the gate and getting out of here,” he says over his shoulder, sprinting away.

And at least when they tell the story back at the campfire nobody mentions his lack of skill at insults.

* * *

It seems like Ghostface has it out for the four of them after that. David comes back from his next match against the killer warning them of how he brought a Mori and wouldn’t stop going after David, even if it meant the others escaped. Soon, Nea has a similar story. They both laugh it off, but Dwight can tell they’re shaken. He starts dreading every trial he’s drawn into.

The next time he and Meg are called for a trial, and sees the hidden killer offering, he knows it’s Ghostface.

The fog clears, and Dwight takes stock of his surroundings. He’s on the lower floor of the meat plant, the place everyone just calls The Game. Not taking any chances, he crouch walks his way through the concrete hallways until he finds a generator, and wedges himself between it and the nearest doorway.

He gets almost halfway through it before someone screams—Jeff, by the sound of it. The artist goes up on the hook immediately, and Dwight starts glancing at the doorway more and more often.

When he finally spots Ghostface, the killer isn’t in the doorway. He’s behind Dwight and practically on top of him. Dwight’s breath freezes in his lungs, and he takes off running. Just before he can turn the corner, though, he feels that telltale weakness wash over him.

Dwight bites his lip and keeps running, looking back long enough to break Ghostface’s shroud and reveal his heartbeat; he’s learned the hard way how impossible it is to keep the killer at bay otherwise. Heart pounding, he dives for a pallet, slamming it down just inches from Ghostface, who just tilts his head in amusement and raises a booted foot to break it. Dwight turns and runs again, trying to count out how long he has until the exposure wears off. 30 seconds, maybe? Surely he can keep the killer at bay for that long.

But when he turns to look behind him, there’s no one there, and the telltale heartbeat is getting farther away. Dwight sags against wall in relief, trying to collect himself a bit before trying to find another generator.

He doesn’t see much of Ghostface for the rest of the match, despite rescuing both Laurie and Meg from the hook. The others, however, aren’t so lucky. Jeff gets hooked twice more and dies, and though Laurie manages to escape that fate by stabbing Ghostface in the shoulder, he goes back for her while Dwight is unhooking Meg.

Dwight tries to heal her, but the heartbeat begins to grow louder, and the two of them split off in opposite directions. Strangely, Laurie has been left downed somewhere, but Dwight can’t see the aura of her prone form like he usually would. He groans to himself, realizing Ghostface has pulled out a trick he learned from the Cannibal. It’s going to be difficult to find Laurie like this, and is Meg on her second hook or her third?

Meg screams as she’s hit, and Dwight holds his breath as he waits to see whether she hits the final stage of the sacrifice, but Ghostface doesn’t put her on the hook. She screams again, and after a long moment, the bell tolls to announce her death.

_Oh, shit,_ he thinks. _The offering_. He jogs through the maze-like building in search of Laurie, but he doesn’t even see her aura before Ghostface has hooked her.

And just like that, he’s alone. Dwight grits his teeth and drops down to the lower level of The Game. The hatch should have appeared by now, if he can just find it--

He hears the beckoning hum of the open hatch somewhere to his right, and sighs with relief, only to turn the corner and see Ghostface crouched almost on top of it.

Dwight stares, dumbfounded, long enough to break the shroud at least, because the heartbeat comes back with full force. He feels rooted to the spot, even as Ghostface stands to full height and beckons towards the hatch.

“Relax, I’ll let you go. Just answer one question for me.”

Dwight swallows heavily. It’s not like he has a choice. There’s no way he can make it to an exit gate if Ghostface closes the hatch now, and the best he could hope for would be to go on a hook quickly instead of bleeding out on the gross slaughterhouse floor. So he says, “Okay.”

Ghostface nods and points his knife at Dwight. “Remake or original?”

“W-what?”

“ _Dawn of the Dead._ You said it was your favorite scary movie. But you didn’t say which version.”

Dwight stares. _Oh god, he remembered that stupid thing I said_. “The original? N-not that the remake is bad, but I saw the original as a kid and really left an imprint on me. And it holds up, y’know, the practical effects and everything, I still get chills watching it as an adult, so….yeah.”

Ghostface is still for a moment, then drops his arm and steps aside. “Go on then.”

Dwight waits until the killer has turned his back and begun to walk away before cautiously jogging toward the hatch. He stops at the edge, a hundred questions buzzing in his head. The one that ends up coming out of his mouth is, “What’s yours? Favorite movie, I mean.”

Ghostface stops but doesn’t look back at him. “ _Scream_ , obviously.”

* * *

He tells the others he found the hatch in time and figures that will be the end of it. And for a while, it is. Ghostface seems content with the revenge he exacted on the others, and though Dwight feels a little bad for getting off so easily, he also recalls the way they were taunting the killer when they thought he couldn’t hurt them.

But…

Dwight’s being slung up on the hook by Ghostface some trials later, with Claudette dead and Adam almost finished the last generator, and Dwight’s only on his first hook, so when Ghostface begins to walk away, he says, “Hey.”

Ghostface actually stops, and Dwight continues, “Is _Scream_ really your favorite scary movie?” And yeah, he’s just trying to distract the killer, but also he’s been thinking it over since their last encounter, and something about the way Ghostface answered before seemed almost...self-deprecating? Which was not a word he would normally associate with the guy.

Still, he’s surprised when Ghostface looks over his shoulder at Dwight and says, “You got me, I lied.” He turns around, arms held out in an exaggerated shrug. “I actually really fucking hate _Scream._ I--”

Ghostface is cut off by the sound of the last generator firing up, and he wags a finger at Dwight accusingly before dashing off to intercept Adam.

After that, it becomes something of a game to Dwight, trying to distract him by guessing various movies.

“ _Friday the 13 th_?” He guesses after stunning him with a pallet inside the Underground Complex. Ghostface shakes his head, both to the question and to shake off the hit he just took.

“ _Halloween_?” He tries next time they face each other on Haddonfield, and Ghostface actually laughs.

“Never meet your legends, kid.”

And that rules out quite a few movies at least. When he runs through all the mainstream flicks he can think of, he spends long hours staring into the campfire trying to think of other horror movies he saw as a teen.

“ _Island of Death_?” He suggests on his first hook in the basement of Suffocation Pit.

“Aren’t you a little young for that movie?” Ghostface teases.

“I’m twenty five!” Dwight protests. “Or I was, I guess, when I got here.”

Ghostface chuckles. “Keep trying, sweet cheeks.”

And finally, “At least tell my why you hate _Scream_ ,” he says from the other side of a pallet in Father Campbell’s Chapel.

Ghostface feints left, and Dwight flinches right. “Nothing against it, great film and all, but it stole my shtick. I came up with the mask and the murder deal all on my own, then I find out some other dimension made a movie out of it? And it’s not even about _me?_ ” On the last word he kicks down the pallet, and Dwight turns and runs.

* * *

He mulls over the conversation later, and has a though that makes him sit bolt upright on his log.

“You all right, buddy?” Ace asks from beside him.

“Yeah, thought I heard a noise,” Dwight answers, laughing nervously. But the thought continues to roll around in his mind, a question begging for an answer.

* * *

“Okay, so.” Dwight is crouched on the catwalk of the Ironworks and Ghostface is down below, waiting for his power to recharge or however it works. “If _Scream_ doesn’t exist in your world how have you seen it?”

Ghostface shrugs dismissively. “I don’t have a realm of my own per se, but the Entity did give me some benefits. A shack to call home, access to anything ever made on VHS...the basics necessities.”

“Oh.” Dwight tries not to let envy color his voice. He misses a lot of things about his old life, like not getting tortured and murdered, but one of the things he misses most are those lazy weekends he would spend on the couch eating junk food and watching movie marathons. “That makes sense.”

Ghostface tilts his head to the side and taps the chin of his mask with his knife. “Want to join me sometime? I could show you my collection. It’s quite sizable.”

It’s an unbelievably cheesy line, but Dwight feels his face go red, and instead of answering he climbs into the nearest locker and thunks his head against the back of it. He can hear Ghostface’s laughter echo from below, then the heartbeat fades and he hears Kate scream.

* * *

He assumes Ghostface is fucking with him, because that’s what he _does._ But after his next trial Dwight looks up from the campfire and that familiar mask is watching him from the shadow of the treeline. The killer holds a finger up to his lips and beckons, then steps back until the shadows swallow him.

Dwight gets to his feet and mumbles some excuse about gathering more firewood. The fire doesn’t need it, but the survivors learned long ago that everyone needs some alone time in order to function as a group, so he gets some nods and a distracted, “Be careful” from Claudette. Dwight shuffles off as naturally as possible. _Nope, nothing suspicious here, just a guy spending some time in the woods by himself._

As soon as he’s out of sight of the campfire he stops and squints into the darkness, but he can’t make anything out in the gloom.

A hand covers his mouth from behind, and Dwight chokes down an instinctive scream. He still half expects cruel laughter and a knife in his back, but the hand lets go and spins him around, and a familiar voice asks, “Missed me?”

“H-how are you so close to the campfire?” Dwight asks before his brain can catch up with his mouth.

“Oh, don’t worry, this is as close as I can get. Why, are you, scared or something?”

“I’d be stupid not to be,” Dwight mumbles. “I know you could kill me.” Obviously it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would still definitely suck.

Ghostface just laughs. “Well sure, but where would be the fun in that? Now, are you coming or what?”

Dwight hesitates, but in the end his curiosity gets the better of him, and he nods.

Ghostface claps in exaggerated delight. “That’s the spirit. Just hold onto my coat, we wouldn’t want you ending up somewhere you don’t belong.”

Dwight swallows a shudder and grabs onto one of the ever-windswept tails hanging off Ghostface’s outfit. It twists and flutters unnervingly in his grip, but he doesn’t let go. They walk without speaking, Ghostface humming something unrecognizable the whole time.

“Ah, here we are, my lovely home away from home.” They stop in front of a familiar shack, though this one sits on an empty plot of land surrounded by the Entity’s dark mist.

“After you,” Ghostface tells him, sweeping his arm toward the doorway.

There’s no door, but someone had fastened a dark curtain over the frame, and Dwight pulls it aside with a nonzero amount of trepidation.

Inside, the floor is carpeted by a shag rug that would look out of place if not for the equally ratty old couch set pressed up against the walls. Against the back wall is a chunky CRT television balanced on a truly rickety TV table. Most of the rest of the room is taken up with scattered piles of VHS tapes, some labeled, some not.

Dwight doesn’t realize he’s stopped at the threshold until a sharp finger at his back pushes him forward, and he yelps and shuffles further into the shack.

“Bless this mess, am I right? Sit anywhere, put your feet up.”

“I was expecting more newspaper clippings,” Dwight says, trying for humor and sort of maybe almost nailing it. He takes a cautious seat on the couch, arms crossed and legs together, eyes trailing over the various VHS titles in an attempt to look anywhere but at the killer who has invited him in.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty. Figure they’re not first date material, though.” The words are surprisingly clear, and with a start Dwight realizes Ghostface has taken of his mask and is in the process of pulling off his hood.

The man beneath the mask is honestly more normal-looking than Dwight expected. Shaggy brown hair sits over a broad forehead and aquiline nose. But most striking of all are his eyes—brown irises so dark they appear almost black.

“Unless you’re into that, I guess,” he continues, and Dwight has to blink and reboot his brain in order to figure out how the conversation had gotten here.

“Uh, no thanks,” Dwight says, looking away finally as the man starts to tug at his gloves. “Is this? A d—a first date?”

“Unless you count our trials together. Not the most romantic date spots, though, are they?” He sticks out a hand to Dwight. “Danny.”

Pure corporate instinct drives Dwight forward to return the handshake. “Dwight.”

A lopsided smile that split Danny’s face. “And what do you do, Dwight?”

The question startled a laugh out of him. “I’m between jobs right now. How about you?”

“Freelance reporter. Looking for my next big story.” He let go of Dwight’s hand and cocked his head. “And part time serial killer.”

“J-just part time?” Dwight asks Ghostface—as Danny squats on the ground and fishes out a VHS.

“There’s a lot more downtime than you’d think,” Danny says, standing up with a theatrical _ah-ha!_ “Ever seen it?” He asks, holding up a tape. Dwight squints at the title: _Hellraiser_.

“Just parts of it,” Dwight replies. He’d been at a Halloween party where he barely knew anyone and someone had been passing around a joint and the whole experience had been an otherworldly blur.

“You’re in for a treat, then,” Danny says, popping it into the VHS player.

He tenses as Danny settles down on the couch next to him and casually slings an arm over him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t put the moves on you during the movie. Wouldn’t want you to miss a moment,” Danny says cheerfully.

True to his word, the arm never moves further into Dwight’s space, its owner settled placidly next to him. He’d expected Danny to be one of those guys who has to give a running commentary during a movie, but the man seems just as focused as Dwight. Well, Dwight does glance over and catch Danny watching him a couple of times, but he figures that sort of comes with the territory.

* * *

Dwight lets out a heavy breath as the credits begin to roll.

“What did you think?” Danny asks.

“It was different than I expected.”

“Oh?”

“Well, the cenobites, they’re not evil, they just have their own set of rules they follow, rules that Frank violated. And what they said to Kirsty...”

“ _We have such sights to show you_ ,”, Danny whispers, and Dwight feels his face flush. He bites his lower lip, and suddenly Danny pulls back.

“I know that look!” he says triumphantly. “You get that look in our trials together. Oh, I thought you were just focusing super hard on not dying, but that’s your turned on look, isn’t it?”

“It’s not like that,” Dwight says weakly. “It’s just your power in trials makes me feel like I’m exposed, uh, literally, and it’s kind of distracting.”

“You’re in for a treat, then,” Danny says. “Close your eyes.”

Dwight’s caution reawakens enough to warn against it, but he does as he’s asked. After a few moments, his eyes snap open as that familiar feeling runs up his spine and through his limbs, and he bits his lip again as his cock twitches in his pants.

“I didn’t, uh, know you could do that outside of trials,” he manages.

“It lasts longer, too,” Danny says, pushing himself back into Dwight’s space.

Dwight didn’t think it was possible to get any redder, but here he is. He’s definitely hard now, and by the way Danny’s eyes are drinking in every inch of him, the other man knows it.

“Show me,” Danny purrs, and Dwight thinks he’s going to die of embarrassment. He knows if he stops to think about what he’s doing it’s all going to crash down around him, so he just...stops thinking, unzips his pants, and pushes down his underwear.

Danny presses up close against his side, one arm slung around his shoulder, and lays a hand on Dwight’s knee. “May I?”

Dwight is nodding before he can second-guess himself, and Danny’s hand moves to his thigh, then his dick. Dwight sucks in a breath at the bolt of pleasure that zips through him. He’d palmed himself a few times during trials while exposed, but it had never felt like this.

And knowing the hand stroking him belonged to a killer, a man who had stabbed him in the back countless times—who could do so again at any moment—only makes him more turned on.

Danny’s hand leaves him, and Dwight tries to catch his breath. Then the hand returns, this time slick with lube, startling a moan of him.

He wants to ask where Danny was hiding that and how he got it open one-handed, but all he can get out is, “How—fuck!” as Danny strokes him faster.

“How what? How am I so good at this?” Danny suggests, nibbling at his ear. Dwight is bucking his hips up now, biting his lip so hard he’s sure it’s going to bleed. Though there’s no terror radius outside of trials, he still feels his heartbeat so strongly it feels like he’s being chased.

“H-hang on,” Dwight manages, and Danny slows his pace, stroking slowly upward and rubbing his thumb over the head. It’s almost enough to make Dwight forget what he was trying to say. “D-do you,” and god, his stutter hasn’t been this bad since he was a teenager, “w-w-want me t-to...” He looks pointedly at the bulge tenting Danny’s pants.

Danny chuckles and shakes his head. “Not yet. I don’t want to miss a second of this.”

And Dwight’s never thought of himself as someone who liked being watched, but something about the full force of Danny’s gaze on him is really doing it for him. Especially when Danny half-pulls Dwight into his lap, his breath hot on Dwight’s neck and his clothed cock pressing against Dwight’s thigh.

“I’m gonna,” Dwight pants, and Danny jerks him harder, nipping lightly at the shell of Dwight’s ear.

“Show me,” Danny says again, and again Dwight can’t help but indulge him, coming so hard it leaves him dazed.

He slumps against the couch as Danny extricates himself, too concerned with trying to catch his breath. There’s a bright flash, and Dwight yelps in surprise. He blinks spots from his eyes to see Danny looking appreciatively at the screen of his digital camera.

“Hey!” He yelps.

“You gotta admit, fucked-out is a good look on you,” Danny says, passing him the camera.

The image of himself, eyes glazed over and lower lip swollen red, brings the heat right back to Dwight’s face.

“Delete that,” he says weakly, and Danny laughs.

“I think I’d like to keep it, actually,” he says, taking the camera back. “Don’t worry, this one’s only for me.”

_This one?_ Dwight thinks, but then Danny’s kissing him, teasing with his tongue and sucking on his bitten lip, and he sort of loses his train of thought.

“Can I fuck you?” Danny asks, and Dwight is nodding, pushing his pants the rest of the way down so quickly that Danny laughs warmly.

“Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

He’s still soft, but knows from experience he can get hard again pretty quickly. The exposed feeling has faded, and somewhere along the way all his anxiety went with it. He’s content to lie there with one leg propped up on the back of the couch as Danny takes his time fingering him open.

Then Danny leans in and licks a stripe up his cock and Dwight gasps. He can’t see Danny’s smile but feels it from where the man’s mouth is pressed against his stomach. Danny continues stretching him, occasionally pressing little bites and kisses to his thigh, his balls, the base of his dick. By the time Danny’s finished Dwight is panting and very much hard again.

Finally Danny pulls his fingers out and undoes his pants. Dwight lifts his head enough to get a look at the man’s dick: it’s a good length, and so hard it twitches to Danny’s heartbeat. He slicks himself up, and now Dwight can see one of his damn cape tassel things is holding the lube for him. He wants to question how sentient the things are, but then Danny’s lining himself up and it suddenly isn’t that important.

Danny pushes into him slowly, but the look on his face is burning with hunger. The stretch is noticeable but the discomfort barely registers as Dwight tangles his fingers around the unnecessary buckles of Danny’s outfit and pulls him down for a kiss.

God, he’s missed this, maybe even more than watching movies. Being close to someone—even if that someone is a self-proclaimed serial killer who has personally murdered him. But something about those dangerous hands on him is making Dwight shiver and arch into the touch, and when Danny pushes flush against him they both groan.

Danny starts thrusting, slow at first, but Dwight urges him on, and he seems happy to oblige. He ends up gripping Dwight’s hips so tight it’s definitely going to bruise, and Dwight can’t even bring himself to care. It feels so good, and Danny’s watching him again like he’s the only thing in the world.

Dwight lets go of Danny long enough to grab onto the couch, and uses the traction to angle himself so that the man inside him is hitting his prostate dead on.

“F-fuck, that’s--” he pants, and Danny gets the idea quickly, shifting to lessen the strain.

“You’re cute when you stutter,” Danny says, and Dwight whines in response.

Danny narrows his eyes at Dwight, and Dwight opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but then the feeling of exposure is back, stronger than before, and his breath catches.

He feels flayed open in the best way, and when he can breathe again he clutches at Danny like a lifeline.

“Come again for me,” Danny says in his ear, wrapping a hand around Dwight’s cock, and feels his orgasm overtake him, almost painful in its intensity. Dwight clutches Danny by the shoulders as it washes over him, and without thinking he sinks his teeth into the juncture of Danny’s shoulder and neck.

He’s afraid Danny will be mad, but the other man just groans in appreciation and fucks into him harder, his own orgasm not long behind.

They lie there panting for a while. Dwight half-hopes Danny really will kill him, to save him having to walk back to the campfire.

When Dwight feels himself being called to a trial, he’s almost grateful. Almost. “At least Kirsty got to escape her hell,” he laments, and feels Danny laugh against him.

As Dwight feels the fog overtake him, he hears Danny say, “Well, actually, in the sequel...”

* * *

Needless to say, when Pinhead shows up several trials later, it’s extremely embarrassing.

**Author's Note:**

> i had no beta for this so please point out any mistakes you may find.
> 
> there may be a second chapter, depending on interest.


End file.
